


Read the Right Signs

by Liralen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Handkerchief Code, Lilo Summer Fic Exchange, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, bisexual/questioning character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liralen/pseuds/Liralen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, sure, there are a few things on here he'd definitely be up for, and maybe a few he's not sure of but might be willing to try, only he could never, ever bring himself to ask for them. He's pretty sure he'd fall over dead before he could look Louis in the face and say the words.</p><p>Liam blinks, slowly, several times. He shifts onto one hip, digging tonight's bandana out of his pocket, and stares at it a moment, then at the browser full of colors before him.</p><p>He realizes, then, that he doesn't have to say a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Read the Right Signs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Randominity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/gifts).



> For Em, who wanted "Something where Liam discovers that Tumblr has been cataloging his hankies and that there is a Hanky Code he's unwittingly playing into, and he decides to go whole hog with it & see if Louis notices, while wondering if Louis is playing along because he already knows. Things come to a head right around the time Liam starts wearing the code for "wants to rim" and Louis has to admit he really, really wants that."
> 
> Special, super ginormous thanks to **shinywhimsy** , who held my hand and cheerleaded and bounced ideas with me from the moment I got my assignment to the very end, and to **lazy-daze** for a super fast Brit-pick at the last hour when I was like "I can't write this anymore, I need to post it!"
> 
>    
>  **NOTE TO READERS:** This fic relies on knowing the color associations for handkerchief code. Each time a new color is mentioned, it contains a link to a chart that lists all the associations. I've also listed the colors and their meanings in the order they appear at the end of the fic; you may want to refer to it if following the links and searching for the colors is time-consuming.  
> 

"F–fuck," Louis cries out, curling into himself a little as he comes over Liam's fist. Liam groans at the way Louis's hand reflexively tightens around his cock, and he ruts harder into the circle of his fingers. When Louis begins to come down from his orgasm and his hand starts to slacken, Liam grabs at him, groaning, pulling him closer until he's basically rubbing off against his palm and stomach, fucking into his loose fist. Louis mumbles breathless encouragement, nipping at Liam's ear, and Liam pushes his face into Louis's neck and comes with a shudder.

"Really put your back into that," Louis comments later as they put themselves together. Louis is still breathing a little hard around a grin, doing the fly up on his jeans. "Inspired performance, mate, honestly," he says, then immediately tries to wipe his come-sticky fingers on Liam's shirt, just to be a dick.

"Thanks, you're disgusting," Liam answers in the same breath. He looks around, distracted. "Mate, have you seen my–"

"This?" Liam glances up; Louis has the bandana in his fist, thankfully the clean one. He pulls it back out of reach when Liam tries to take it, but only, apparently, so he can tuck it into Liam's pocket himself. "Don't worry, sorted. Going with a nice [light blue](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) today, are we? Which pocket do you want it in?"

Liam frowns at the twist of humor in Louis's voice. It isn't that Louis doesn't usually seem amused by something, often at Liam's expense, but Liam generally knows what it is. He glances over his shoulder, brows drawn, to meet a guileless blue gaze nearly the same color as the bandana in Louis's hands. "Doesn't matter. The right one, I guess. What are you giggling about?"

"Nothing," Louis says, not really trying to sound sincere in Liam's opinion, tucking the bandana neatly into Liam's back pocket. "Your face. C'mon, you've made a mess of my hair, if we're late to Lou on top of it she's gonna have our bollocks."

Liam wants to press the issue, because Louis is outright smirking now and that isn't usually good for anyone, but he's quite fond of his bollocks, and Louis's too, so he goes.

 

–

 

Liam doesn't notice, at first, that it's a Thing. To be fair, they have a lot of Things, he and Louis; it gets hard to keep track of. But the third time Louis tries to distract him on stage and swipe the bandana from his pocket, almost succeeding until Niall notices and can't choke back a laugh, Liam decides it's definitely become a Thing.

They're a touchy band in general, but Louis's always maintained a casual possessiveness of Liam's body, a certain fascination for grabbing and pulling at and messing with him that he established long before they began fooling around. It started out as a way to annoy Liam, back when they couldn't stand each other, and somewhere along the line it's become more of a display of affection. Or maybe there was always an element of affection to it and Liam just didn't see it before; he doesn't know. Louis's his best friend, but trying to work out the way he thinks most days just gives Liam a headache.

The point is, while Louis likes to think himself spontaneous and unpredictable, he has certain habits Liam could set his watch to, and one of them is messing with Liam's clothes. He likes to tug out the necks of Liam's t-shirts, likes to try and yank his shoes off, or knot the laces into hopeless tangles when he's not looking. When he started wearing caps on stage, Louis went after them immediately, unswayable in his determination to steal one away.

Once he'd managed to finally swipe one and settle it on his own head, his enthusiasm for the game had simmered down, though he'll still make a half-hearted attempt now and then if he's bored. Liam never did get that cap back - he knows Louis still has it, because he's seen it in his duffle and he's even worn it out a few times - but he considers it a small sacrifice to appease whatever obsession drives Louis to do these things in the first place.

Liam assumes that the Thing with the bandana is much the same situation. He plays along for a bit, thwarts Louis's attempts both onstage and off for a little while, before finally giving in and letting Louis have what he wants. Louis slips past him as he's singing, face arranged in blank innocence, and Liam's half-surprised for a second when he feels the light tug at his pocket. He could reach back, catch Louis's wrist before he can escape, but honestly, he's let it go on long enough, and Louis always looks so pleased when he finally beats Liam at one of the stupid games he'd invented. So let him have the victory.

Only it doesn't work out that way. Louis takes the bandana, holds it aloft like a prize belt, responding to Liam's exasperation with a crinkle-nosed smile–cute, cute, he's unbearably cute and at the same time Liam wants to spank him red, welcome to the paradox that is Louis Tomlinson–and then attempts to stuff it in his own pocket before Liam scowls at him. The crowd howls at that, rather more than Liam expects–it's just another of their endless stupid games, after all. But the surge of cheering and yelling puts a grin on Louis's face, wide and well-fed, and he magnanimously moves to tuck the bandana back into Liam's pocket.

"Other side," Liam says as Louis goes for Liam's right jeans pocket. He feels Louis still at his back and instinctively turns into him, mouth to cheek, Louis's warm chest pressed to Liam's shoulders. "All right?" he asks.

Close like this, he can hear the click of Louis's throat as he swallows. "You used to keep it in your right," Louis says, after a pause that probably isn’t as long as it feels.

"I changed it up," Liam says, unconcerned. Until he pulls back a bit to see Louis's face, and there's no accounting for the flush in his cheeks, the glazed sheen to his eyes. "Lou? Are you sure you're feeling okay? You look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine," Louis lets out tightly. Liam feels a faint tug on his pocket, and then Louis stuffs the bandana in Liam's hand instead and storms off abruptly to the other side of the stage to huddle with Zayn.

"What the hell was that about?" Liam wonders to himself. He must mumble it louder than he thinks, because nearby Niall cackles.

"Your face," Niall chortles, gleeful. "Oh my god, it's too much."

Liam shoots him a questioning look, but Niall is already dancing away, shaking his head and grinning, hands never faltering on his guitar. Liam's bandmates suck. They're actually the worst.

Whatever. Liam's been the bigger person (as usual) and let Louis have what he's after, so he figures he's bought himself a bit of peace. It should be over, more or less, now that Louis's won.

It should be, but somehow it isn't.

 

–

 

Liam lays his options out on the hotel bed. He runs his fingers consideringly over a [red](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) bandana, then a [forest green](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) one – he can't even remember where he got it–trying to decide if it goes with his outfit tonight.

"Hey, what do you think?" he asks when Zayn wanders back in, the sharp scent of cigarette smoke fresh on his hands and shirt, making Liam's throat itch with longing. He pushes it back–he's a _casual_ smoker, he's not going to let Zayn drag him down after all these years–and holds the green bandana up for inspection.

Zayn stares for a second, then unexpectedly pulls out his phone. Liam's about to grumble over being ignores, but after a moment of thumbing through his phone, Zayn breaks into a smirk and meets his gaze.

"I think the fans will lose their minds," he said. "Among other people."

Liam frowns. "What's that supposed to mean then?"

If anything, Zayn's smile becomes even broader, if not a bit exasperated. "Do you never wonder why they all go on about your– _bandanas_ –on Twitter?" he asks. "What they're saying?"

"You're the one who usually says the stuff on Twitter is 'better left unexamined'," Liam replies.

"This might be an exception," Zayn says. He's still grinning, but there's something else behind his eyes. Caution? Worry? Liam can't read it. "Not on Twitter, though. Maybe google 'bandana colors'. Just, if you're interested."

As if Liam can think about anything else now that Zayn's brought it up. He half wants to throw Zayn out and open his laptop right now, burned up by the sly suggestion in Zayn's voice, the dirty slant of his grin. Somehow, he resists.

Zayn unfolds from his spot near the door, moving to Liam's side and slightly behind him. He reaches down to touch the corner of a [dark blue](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) bandana that Liam got in Bogotá, his other hand steadying him on Liam's hip. "Wear this one," he says. "He'll like it."

"Yeah?" Liam asks, studying Zayn's expression from the corners of his eyes. He doesn't ask 'who?'; he doesn't think Zayn would buy it.

Zayn nods, shoots him a wink.

"Trust me."

 

–

 

Liam waits a whole hour after they get back to the bus from the show venue before he looks it up. He takes a shower, texts his sisters, even tries to watch a bit of telly with Niall, although he's so antsy that Niall eventually tells him he can't hear over Liam's tapping feet, either settle down or go be restless somewhere else. He says it in that kind of way only Niall can, where he's basically telling you to sod off but sounding nice about it all the same, and Liam scrubs a quick hand over the hair peeking out of his backwards snapback, kisses the side of his head and retreats to his own bunk, relieved.

His laptop glows over-bright in the dim space of his bunk. The clock in the corner reads 1:23 AM. 54 minutes is basically an hour.

Liam opens an incognito tab on his browser–life with Louis Tomlinson, and his penchant for snooping to find things he can use to embarrass you, has taught him _so much_ –and first tries a simple search for _bandanas._ That only brings up the expected results, though, a wiki entry on bandanas and a slew of shopping ads. He tries _green bandana_ next (no, he didn't mean 'green banana'), thinking of the one he'd almost worn on stage tonight. There are a bunch of pictures of green bandanas in all different shades–an electric lime one catches his eye, that's pretty fun–and a few more ads, and down just a couple of results there's an urban dictionary entry. It looks promising until he scans the text and reads that green bandanas are associated with some sort of gang in California. As much as Niall and Louis enjoy throwing up their stupid 'west side' signs, Liam doesn't think that's what Zayn was hinting at. It isn't a good enough reason for the internet to develop an obsession over them, either.

He slowly backspaces, trying to remember exactly what Zayn had said. Picking the keys out slowly (how is it so much harder on a real keyboard than his phone?), Liam googles _bandana colours._ Google automatically drops the 'u', which annoys him for half a second, until the results appear.

There's an ad at the top, like every other time, but the first real result is from wiki, and it's not a generic article on the invention of the bandana, this time. It's about some kind of code.

_The handkerchief code (hanky code, bandana code, flagging) is a **color** -coded system, employed usually among the gay male…_

That's where the brief description ends in the search results. It's also where Liam's mind goes into shutdown.

Oh god. Oh, _God._ Is that what Louis's been on about? Is that why he's been trying to steal Liam's bandanas, is that why the fans have been having a fit? Has Liam actually _accidentally_ been broadcasting the fact that he's gay?

Trembling, Liam closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, holds it in, and counts. He gives himself 10 seconds to panic. When they're done, he lets the breath out again and opens his eyes.

It's stupid. It's just _silly_. Plenty of men wear bandanas hanging from their pockets, Liam didn't _invent_ it. Lots of rappers do it, and most of them aren't gay, or at least, not that anyone knows. No one is going to know he's gay because he's got a bloody handkerchief in his pocket (they might suspect if he doesn't stop letting Louis grab his nipples, but that's a different problem for a different day).

He hasn't even read the actual article yet, he's just freaking out over the first line. The next bit could well be, 'but now it's become so popular no one even thinks of that anymore!' Or something like that, but in more, like, scholarly wiki-terms. And there's still this business about 'color codes' that he hasn't figured out yet. He just needs to calm down and read the whole thing before he goes jumping headfirst into conclusions.

Reading the whole thing does not, as it turns out, do much to ease his mind. The [introduction](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handkerchief_code) alone has heat climbing in his cheeks, and as he reads on, his eyes keep flicking up to the top of the page, checking again and again that he's still in private browsing. He feels a hysterical giggle bubble up when he reads that wearing a bandana in the left pocket apparently advertises him as a top, his mind zooming back to that day Louis tried to tuck the bandana in for him, his almost accusatory _you used to keep it in your right_. When he reads that there is no 'universally understood color code' he feels a short-lived burst of relief, and then he has to look up words he doesn't know, and his face is hot again, hand over his eyes as he tries frantically to remember if he has ever in his life owned a yellow or brown bandana, oh dear christ.

By the time he's read through those short three paragraphs he's sweating, heart thumping too-fast in his chest like he just ran the 400 meter. He doesn't want to read anymore, he wants to close the window and put his laptop away and pretend he never saw any of this, pretend he doesn't know the next time he goes on stage, but he does, he _will_. He can't unread it, and he hates Zayn a little for dragging the whole stupid mess in front of him when he'd been quite happy living in ignorance, thanks.

Still. He knows, now, and he can't undo that. He might as well read it all. Besides, he still hasn't learnt what most of the colors mean (for all that it's supposedly not universal, there's a chart included that's considered 'authoritative'). And a part of him–okay.

A part of him, he's willing to admit, is curious. Not just about what messages he's apparently been sending the whole world, god, but also–the way Louis had reacted to some of them. And why. Why Zayn had put the dark blue bandana in his hands that afternoon and said, "He'll like it."

He checks the privacy symbol at the top of the tab one more time, sticks his head out past the curtain to make sure no one's around, and then scrolls down. Reads, face burning, lip tucked between his teeth, that he's told the world (told Louis) that he wants to fuck, wants to be fucked; wants to suck cock; wants to–people don't actually _do_ that with their fists, do they?

He reads the whole list. A fine shiver is running through him, a constant, restless shake. He follows a link at the bottom and reads another, longer list. Most of it makes him blush, or grimace, or knit his brows in confusion; a few things actually make his stomach turn. It's a wide, strange world, that's for sure.

But some of it. Some of it is–not confusing, or disgusting. Shocking, maybe, but also–also something he may want. Would definitely want, if only he knew Louis wanted it, too.

The thing is, he doesn't even know if Louis is gay. Louis knows Liam is, of course; all the lads know. But he doesn't know if Louis is, like, _into_ what he does with Liam, or if he's just into what Liam does to him. They haven't done much since they struck up this whole 'bandmates with benefits' deal besides wank each other off and kiss a little, which is, like, a bit gay, but not _massively_ gay. Once, when Liam'd had a few beers and Louis was stoned out of his head, he tried to suck Louis off, but he'd only got as far as licking all over the head while he stroked him before Louis had come all across his cheek. It had been more ridiculous than anything, Louis laughing his arse off as Liam stared, shell-shocked and messy, and then passing out before he even got Liam back.

So, sure, there are a _few_ things on here he'd definitely be up for, and maybe a few he's not sure of but might be willing to try, only he could never, ever bring himself to ask for them. He's pretty sure he'd fall over dead before he could look Louis in the face and say the words.

Liam blinks, slowly, several times. He shifts onto one hip, digging tonight's bandana out of his pocket, and stares at it a moment, then at the browser full of colors before him.

He realizes, then, that he doesn't have to say a thing.

 

–

 

"Woke up frisky this morning, did we?" Louis asks, his voice still a warm, sleepy buzz. He yawns unabashed morning breath right in Liam's face, but he also rolls to his back and spreads out so that Liam can get between his thighs and rub against his hip, so Liam's willing to let it go.

"I've been up for hours, you lazy sod," Liam tells him. He pushes his face to Louis's neck, near his hairline, inhaling the sleep-warm scent of him. "Had a really good session with Mark. You know how that makes me." He opens his mouth against Louis's neck, scrapes gently with his teeth.

"I do," Louis shivers, more awake now. He's got a bit of morning wood; it feels so good against Liam's that he can't help grinding down, rubbing their dicks together. "Jesus," Louis gasps, surprised, tipping his head back. His hands scrabble at the waistband of his boxers. "Hold on, lemme get me pants down."

"I'll do it," Liam tells him instead, pushing Louis's hands away. He pulls back to catch Louis's uncertain look and calms down enough to offer him a smile, a brief brush of a kiss. "You just lie there and look pretty."

"Oh, I see how it is," Louis jokes, but he's breathing a little hard as Liam peels down his boxers and then gets his own kit off. He crawls right back between Louis's legs and presses them together, rocking his hips gently a few times to make Louis's eyes flutter before reaching between them and wrapping a hand around both of them in a firm, sure grip.

"Yeah, that's how it is," Liam whispers. He studies Louis's face, the crinkle of his brow and his bitten lip, looking for signs that he's pressed too far. They haven't done it quite like this before, and it's got to be a bit gayer, having another bloke's dick right up against yours, instead of just in your hand. Louis doesn't seem to be complaining, though. If anything, he's getting worked up a bit quicker than normal, pushing into Liam's hand with quiet little noises.

"Bring your knee up here, to my hip," Liam says softly, leaving off stroking for a moment to balance on his elbow, his free hand hooking under Louis's knee and drawing it up. It opens up Louis's hips, lets them press closer, and Louis lets out a thin whine–whether from the move, or because Liam's stopped wanking him off, Liam can't tell–and wraps his leg around Liam's waist. "Yeah, that's good," Liam breathes, fixing his grip and resuming the slick slide of his fist. "Is this alright?"

"Liam, _jesus_ ," Louis whines, thrusting his hips up in a hard, dirty drag that has them both groaning. His eyes are shut tight, mouth parted, and he's _beautiful,_ so bloody gorgeous.

"Feels so good," Liam says, instead of what he's thinking, which is that he'd like to see Louis this way all the time, cheeks flushed and hair rumpled and shaking in Liam's arms, because that seems just a bit overwhelming for a morning wank. He rubs the pad of his thumb around the crown of Louis's dick, over the slick head, dipping lightly into his slit, and Louis _keens._ "You feel so good, gonna make me come. Gonna–" Liam blushes, but Louis's eyes are still closed, and he pushes on, makes himself say it. "Gonna make me come right against you, spill over your dick–"

Louis's breath comes out in a grunt like the wind's been knocked out of him, and then he's coming, slicking up Liam's hand and making the glide of it on his own dick so much easier. Liam lasts another dozen quick flicks of his wrist before he's adding to the mess between them, tingling from bollocks to scalp to the bottoms of his feet with the strength of how hard he just came. He rests his forehead against Louis's chest, feels the puff of Louis's rapid breaths ruffle his hair, and lets himself have a moment to bask in how amazing he feels.

When he pulls back, Louis's eyes are open, watching him with thinly veiled curiosity. He doesn't seem grossed out or panicked, so Liam offers him a smile. The little knot of anxiety in his stomach eases when Louis smiles back before looking down between their stomachs, his nose crinkling in distaste.

"Well, that's a mess," he says.

"Here, I've got it," Liam says. He props himself up a bit on one elbow and pulls free the knot of the [white](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) bandana wrapped around his right wrist, every inch aware of Louis's gaze on him. Shaking out the cloth, he wipes clean first his own hand, then Louis's stomach. Their eyes meet again as he carefully balls the fabric up, sticky side in, and drops it to the floor.

"There we go," Liam says, sounding about a million times calmer than he feels under Louis's gaze as he gets to his feet and climbs back into his workout kit. "Good enough to make it to a shower. I should probably grab my own now if I want to make it to breakfast. See you downstairs." He pats Louis's hip and heads for the door, hears Louis's faint, dazed, "Yeah, see you," before it swings closed, and grins.

 

–

 

Louis doesn't know what Liam's playing at, and he doesn't know if he likes it. And fuck it all, that used to be _his_ role.

Liam has the mic cupped in both hands as he croons into it from a breath away, which is fairly standard, and usually only good for getting Louis's dick halfway interested these days. But tonight there's something… something just _different_ about it. He can't pick out any one thing that's changed, really. Liam's lips seem to brush the mic a bit more than necessary, his voice seems a touch throatier, and when he glances sidelong at Louis, he holds eye contact just a few beats too long; but none of it taken alone is very noticeable. Put all together, though, the whole thing has an entirely different vibe, one Louis's almost certain he's not just making up in his head.

There's been something _different_ for days, really, starting with the morning Liam woke him up and wanked them both off in one of his massive hands. Louis's face gets warmer just thinking about the way Liam's dick felt against his, hot and smooth, so much better than just his fist. And the shit Liam said–Louis knows better than anyone that behind that schoolboy smile there's a bit of naughty fun in Liam, but he still didn't expect _that_. Didn't expect how fast it brought him to the edge, either, coming over Liam's fist in mere minutes like he was 14 years old and getting his first handie.

He had to bite back hard on a laugh when Liam untied the bandana from his wrist to clean them off. _White_. It was just too perfect, that Liam had pulled them both off, and the whole time he'd been obliviously wearing the color that signaled he liked to wank. Louis almost wanted to tell him, just to see how his mouth would fall open and the color his face would turn, but that would ruin the game, and it's a game Louis's been enjoying. He's not ready to give it up, even to embarrass the living hell out of Liam.

Aside from making Louis's heart rate skyrocket while he practically blows the microphone, Liam is absolutely _comedic gold_ tonight. He starts the night with a standard dark blue bandana in his pocket–it was only Louis's imagination that his hip thrusts were more enthusiastic than usual–but a few songs in, someone throws a bandana on stage, and Liam zeroes right in on it. He bends down to snatch it up, shaking it out and holding it up to the light.

"Is this for me?" he shouts down to the girl who threw it. She nods vigorously, and he beams. "What color is it, I can't quite tell in this light. Is that pink? Have you given me a pink bandana?"

Louis steps closer to hear her answer: "[Dark pink](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg)!" she yells, and the group of girls around her whoops when her face flushes nearly dark enough to match the bandana in Liam's hand.

"I don't think I have any pink bandanas," Liam says. "Thanks love." He waggles his fingertips in a little wave and tries to wink, which is as hilarious as always, and stuffs the bandana into his free right pocket.

The group of girls shrieks with one voice, a dozen camera phones flashing at once. Louis tries very hard to keep his grin to himself, but he could absolutely kiss the fan who threw the bandana for the gift she's just handed him.

He waits as long as he can, which is two entire songs, before finding a good excuse to sidle up to Liam and drape an arm around him. Liam leans into it, his own free arm looping round Louis's waist, not missing a beat. Louis lets him finish up his solo first–he's so generous it's really unbelievable–before reaching up flicker-quick and giving Liam's nipple a good hard tweak.

"Ow!" Liam yelps, as the crowd roars approval, but he's laughing, eyes crinkled up so Louis can't even see their color. "What was that for, eh?"

"You were asking for it," Louis says, away from the microphone, so that no one else can hear.

"I was, was I?" Liam asks, shaking his head, but there's something–again, _different_ in his expression. It's almost smug, the smile he gives Louis. "I don't remember saying 'please someone come twist my nipple," he says.

Louis smirks, rolling the microphone against his palm, and gives Liam a brief up-and-down. "Maybe I can just read you that well," he says, faux-innocent, with a shrug.

There's a glint in Liam's eye that makes him shiver when he answers, "Maybe you can."

 

–

 

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" Louis demands as soon as they're back on the bus. It's the middle of the night and still nauseatingly hot outside, and Louis's just had to endure a rest stop filled by 10 minutes of Liam bloody fucking Payne performing fellatio on a mango-flavored helados ice lolly. His head hurts and his dick hurts, his bake is nearly burned off, and Zayn is _laughing_ at him.

He can't do much about the rest, so he smacks Zayn in the stomach, then pinches his nipple hard for good measure. Zayn swears and shoves him off, but he goes back to laughing against almost immediately. Zayn's bake is apparently still going strong.

"That was amazing," he giggles, throwing himself down on the couch, a sprawled mess of reedy limbs. "Shit, I didn't think he had it in him."

"You don't know what he's had in him," Louis grumbles, and then flushes, because he meant it to sound vaguely dirty but not _that_ dirty.

Zayn positively leers at him. "Something you wanna share, bro?"

"Absolutely not." Louis scuffs a hand through his hair, fumbling through the pockets of his trackies for a lighter. He just had a cigarette during the stop, but after witnessing that performance he needs another. "No, but seriously, has Liam seemed _different_ to you recently? He's been weird."

"If by 'weird' you mean 'incessantly pornographic'," Zayn shrugs. Louis throws him a look, half frustrated glare and half pleading, and Zayn begins to pat down his own pockets.

"Exactly!" Louis exclaims around the unlit fag clamped between his lips. "That's not our Liam. What the hell's got into him?"

"Reckon he's decided to start playing you at your own game," Zayn says lazily. He's stilled with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, starting to doze.

"Beating me at my own game," Louis corrects absently. Then Zayn's words register and he freezes. "Wait, _what?_ "

"Hmm?" Zayn hums at him.

"Zayn. _Zayn._ " Louis spits the unlit cigarette from his mouth and sets himself down heavily in Zayn's lap, straddling his thighs. "Zayn Malik, you wake up right now and explain yourself to me."

"The… whatsits… the kerchiefs," Zayn babbles drowsily. "Bandanas. That's the word. The colors. S'probably figured it out."

"The hanky code?" At Zayn's loose nod, Louis scowls. "You wanker. You told him, didn't you?" Louis doesn't wait for confirmation before digging his thumbs into Zayn's soft, relaxed belly, making him howl. It's a lucky thing Zayn's still so stoned, because his slap at Louis's face is sloppy and weak and still stings something awful. "Arsehole."

"It had gone on long enough," Zayn says. "Y'always let things go on too long."

"I don't either," Louis sulks. "You're just not any fun. Liam's fun. Liam understands that some things are _always_ funny."

They've transitioned from fighting to cuddling with no step in between, the way they often do; Louis's head suddenly feels leaden against Zayn's shoulder, and Zayn's hand on his face has turned gentle, stroking over the lingering warmth in his cheek. "Liam lets things go on too long, too," Zayn says, his voice sounding deeper, burred with relaxation and resonating in his chest beneath Louis's ear. "You're both idiots, s'why you're good together. And also, like, awful together."

"We're not anything together," Louis says, perhaps too quickly. "Except mates."

"Ah," Zayn says.

"Bandmates. Mates in a band."

"Mm."

"Who, yes, okay, sometimes get off together, but it's not a _thing_. We said it wasn't going to be a thing. It happened once, and then we talked about it–like reasonable, non-idiot adults–and decided it wasn't going to be a thing, so it isn't. So if you thought it was, just sort yourself out right now, because it's not."

"Okay."

"Don't say it like that." Louis pulls back far enough to look at Zayn's face, see the high, amused arch of his brows.

"Calm down, Lou, I just said 'okay'."

"You said it with a tone." Louis sniffs, but settles himself back into the cradle of Zayn's body. The hour's starting to pull at him, and he's losing the energy to be indignant. It's too much to think about tonight–Liam knowing about the code and using it against Louis, and how Louis's going to get him back, and how it's _not_ a _thing._ He'll work it out in the morning. "You said it in a smug way. And you used your smug eyebrows. You know what you did. I'm going to sleep on you," he runs on, to forestall any further argument.

There's a long pause, and then Zayn murmurs quietly, "Okay," and laughs when Louis pinches him.

 

–

 

Louis considers just letting the game die. Liam knows now: the fun is up. Might as well let it go.

Haha, as _if_. He doesn't consider it for a second. _Louis_ decides when a game is played out. Like hell is he going to let Liam win this one.

The way he looks at it, after Zayn's confession last night, Louis has the upper hand again. Liam may know about the code, but Louis knows Liam knows, whereas Liam doesn't know that Louis knows that Liam knows.

"Bro, it's six in the morning," Niall groans. "I'm just trynna eat some corn flakes. Can you not do your dastardly plotting somewhere else?"

Louis draws himself up straight and fixes Niall with his most withering glare. "No, _Neil_ , I can't. I may have the upper hand _now_ , but it's going to slip away if I don't figure out a plan of attack quickly. Why do you think I'm up so early?"

"Thought maybe you were gonna work out or summat." They stare at each other over their cereal. Eventually, Niall blinks. "Yeah, okay, good point."

"The thing to do," Louis muses, refocused on his plan, "is to just let it escalate naturally, I think. He thinks he's awfully clever, with his bandanas, and his ice lollies, and how he's suddenly started shaving his–"

" _Fuck sake_ , do not finish that sentence," Niall gasps.

"The point is," Louis continues, "he's having fun trying to make me react. If I just don't react, don't give him what he wants, he'll have to up the ante, and eventually he'll end up doing something that embarrasses _him_ more than _me_. And then I win," Louis explains, because Niall's looking at him with a confused expression.

"What do you win?"

"The thing," Louis says. He makes a spinning motion with his hand, because Niall still doesn't seem to understand. "The _thing_ , Niall, I win the _thing_." He blinks. "Not that there's a thing between me and Liam."

"Okay," Niall says. "There's not a thing, but you're gonna win it."

"Exactly."

Niall reaches across the table and gently pats Louis's hand. "Good luck with that," he says, very seriously, in the kind of tone where Louis can't tell if he really _is_ being serious or taking the piss. He nods, wary, and waves when Niall sets his bowl in the sink and disappears to the shower.

He can't worry about Niall right now. He's got a thing to win.

 

–

 

Louis's plan is working _perfectly._

In just three days, Liam transforms from sly and teasing to nigh-on desperate for Louis's attention. The concert in Rio, Liam wears his old standby [navy blue](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) bandana, and he spends so much time hip-thrusting to the beat and grinding against his microphone stand that Louis's a little afraid he's going to have permanent chafing damage. Louis has to grit his teeth a little (and duck into the toilets during wardrobe change to readjust his dick so he isn't fined for public indecency), but he gets through it more or less unscathed, and he can _see_ the confusion in Liam's glances the whole night.

For nearly the past week, Louis has been playing right into Liam's hands; getting worked up and giving Liam the attention he asks for. Liam's managed to play it pretty cool, for the most part, but as Louis predicted, the moment Louis stops reacting, his cool evaporates.

He tries harder on the trip between Rio and São Paulo, spending more time than he usually would on Bus 1 with Louis and Zayn. He finds a [grey](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) scarf somewhere (Harry) and plays with it to the point of distraction, first trying to ensnare Louis, then eventually winding it around his own wrists. After a certain point it seems to become almost a nervous habit he doesn't even notice anymore; he's just hanging out on the couch while Zayn and Louis play CoD, wrapping the scarf tight around his right wrist and then unwinding it, only to wrap it around again. Over and over, and Louis keeps his attention fixed as much as he can on the TV screen, but he can feel sweat gathering above his lip, at the small of his back. He can't stop sneaking glances from the corners of his eyes, can't stop imagining pinning down both of Liam's restless hands and tying them together so that he's _still_. So that he's still, and helpless, and he can't touch Louis back, can't do a thing but beg when Louis…

By the time they stop for fuel and Liam switches buses, Louis's character has been killed seven times, and Zayn's given up in disgust. Louis is decidedly not proud of how long it takes him to get a hand down his joggers and come into his own fist. But the important thing is that he's winning.

The first show in São Paulo starts the same way. Liam hangs a [black](http://www.readingrailmen.net/images/hanky%20colors.jpg) bandana from his left pocket, and he's an absolute menace from the moment they go out, getting in Louis's space and pushing him around, trying to tell him what to do, though it's all done with a flash of humor in Liam's eyes and the crook of a smile. Louis rolls his eyes and pushes back, as he always does, refusing to let Liam have his way. At one point they get into an over-acted argument about… it's too loud to actually hear Liam very well, but Louis thinks it's about a water bottle Louis didn't hand him, maybe. Anyway, they're gesturing wildly and indignantly, and then Louis fakes a punch that Liam mimes stumbling back from, and it's _right there_ –Louis can't _not_ steal the bandana from Liam's pocket. He waves it in Liam's face as he straightens up, then makes a show of stuffing it in his own left pocket. Liam scowls, pointing angrily and shouting something that is probably a demand for the bandana's safe return. Louis just crosses his arms over his chest, smirking, and arches his brows in a way he hopes conveys, _who's the bitch now, bitch?_

Liam's eyes widen comically, then narrow. The sly, knowing look, the one Louis managed to wipe away three days ago, suddenly returns to Liam's face. He smiles, and the triumphant feeling in Louis's chest does a giddy somersault and plummets to his stomach.

He has the uneasy feeling his perfect plan is about to hit a snag.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it, because Harry chooses that moment to stop babbling to the crowd about the price of furniture in Denmark or whatever he's been on about, and they have to sing again. Louis keeps his eye on Liam for the next two songs, until it's time for wardrobe change, but Liam doesn't do anything out of the ordinary. He bounces around on the balls of his feet and grabs his crotch and pulls off a falsetto wail that sounds pornographic: standard fare. As they rush off to change, Louis thinks that maybe he's just imagined the whole thing.

And then he sees Liam shove a brand new bandana in his pocket.

It's beige, and Louis has to take out his phone and google it because the chart he's pretty much learnt by heart doesn't even _have_ a beige. He scrolls hurriedly through a long list of colors, finally gets to fucking _beige_ , and then just stares. It's not that he doesn't know what the word means, it's just–maybe there's another meaning? He googles that, too, just in case, but, no.

'Rimming' means exactly what he thought, and judging by the side he's wearing the bandana on, Liam wants to do it. Like. Like possibly to _Louis_.

Louis doesn't realize he's just standing there, staring at his phone, until Harry snaps his fingers right in front of his face. Louis startles, nearly dropping his phone in his haste to turn it off, and glares at Harry's bemused look.

"Sorry to interrupt your porn time, but we kind of need to be back on stage, like, now-ish."

Louis opens his mouth to say something snappy, but Harry's already starting away on his stupidly long legs, so Louis has to scramble to keep up. "I wasn't looking at porn," he snaps out, maaaybe a little too sharply to be compelling. He can only see a bit of Harry's face from this angle, but that's definitely the start of a dimple.

"Sexts from Liam are the same difference," Harry drawls.

"Harold!" That's not Louis's voice. That's also not a blush rising in Louis's face. He is very firm on both these subjects. "What the hell, I don't–we don't–why would you even think that?!"

Harry glances back at him just before they step on stage, his gaze quickly skating down Louis's body and back up. "Because you've got a stiffy big enough to poke an eye out in the second row. Have some shame, Louis, we're in the middle of a show here."

He winks as he walks on stage, shouts out, "Hello São Paulo, did you miss us!" and Louis quietly prays that the stage will collapse and kill them all.

 

–

 

Louis's glad there isn't much of the concert left to go, because he spends the remainder of it feeling like he's been drugged. He can't concentrate, and he can't stop sneaking looks at Liam that probably aren't that sneaky, and more than all of that he can't stop thinking about that fucking bandana and what it means.

He can't ignore the possibility that Liam is simply fucking with him. He may have caught on that Louis knows, or he may just be pulling out all the stops in order to get a reaction. It doesn't necessarily mean that Liam really wants to do–that. It doesn't even mean he wants to do it to _Louis_ , although some hitherto buried possessiveness rears its head and snarls at the idea of Liam doing it with anyone else. Yeah, fuck _that_. If Liam wants to do this, it's going to be Louis or it's going to be no one.

It's not something he's ever, ever considered. The idea of someone putting their mouth on someone else's arse in general is kind of weird to him; he's never understood the appeal. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to put his own mouth on anyone's arse. But the very specific idea of _Liam_ putting his mouth on _Louis's_ arse–well. That's a bit of a different thing, isn't it? It still makes him cringe inside, makes his stomach twist and burn warm, but it's not all distaste, or even embarrassment. There's something undeniably hot about the idea of Liam on his knees for Louis, focusing all his attention on making Louis feel good, _servicing_ him–

Louis has to turn away from the crowd and close his eyes, press the heel of his hand down against his flies where his dick is trying to push up. He breathes in deep through his nose, out through his mouth, trying to slow the rush of blood through his veins. When he feels calmed down a bit he drops his hand and opens his eyes.

Liam's staring at him from not three metres away. They make eye contact, and then Liam's gaze drops to Louis's dick. No–not his dick. His _arse_. His gaze lingers, heavy and obvious, and then he wrenches his attention back up to Louis's face, and his eyes are huge and dark. He licks his lips, slow and deliberate, brings the microphone to his mouth and pours his voice over it like warm caramel, and Louis spends the last two songs forcibly reminding himself to breathe.

By the time they say good night and leave the stage Louis's buzzing, tired from the show and from being continuously turned on for so long, snapping with impatience and need. He grabs Liam by the arm the moment they're backstage, pushing up to his toes to whisper into his ear. "My room. The minute we're at the hotel. Do not fucking think of going anywhere else."

It sounds more confident than Louis feels, but when he falls back to his heels Liam turns a wild look on him, his cheeks pink and his eyes gone desperate with want. Louis gives his bicep a quick squeeze and then lets go, stepping back while he still can and turning blindly in the direction of the shower. He runs the water cold, scrubbing down quick and efficient, and it still barely eases the insistent throbbing in his dick. He's got to press it down with one hand just to get his trousers done.

The ten minute drive to their hotel is the longest bloody car ride of Louis's life.

 

–

 

This is by far, by leaps and bounds and cross-Atlantic flights, the gayest thing Louis has ever done.

It feels like there may have been some steps he missed between trading friendly hand jobs and lying belly-down on the bed while another bloke puts his mouth on Louis's arse. Like, like–well, blow jobs, for instance. Surely having another boy's mouth on your cock is less gay than having it on your arse, right? Louis's had quite a few mouths on his cock, and none of them have been gay. Except for Miranda Spitzer in Year 10, who did actually turn out to be gay, but what she and Louis did together wasn't gay. He doesn't think. Does it work like that? Can getting a blowie from a girl be gay if the girl's a lesbian?

Louis's very aware that he's panicking. He doesn't try to stop himself. This is something legitimate to panic over: Liam, his bandmate and his best friend, is knelt down on the bed between Louis's legs, working small, soft kisses down his back as he slides Louis's pants down. He's kissing the dimples either side of Louis's spine, scraping his teeth over the thin skin as he lifts Louis's legs, one at a time, to get his boxers over his feet. He pushes firmly at the small of Louis's back, and Louis falls, lets the pillow tilt his hips up, lets his thighs splay with Liam's gentle nudge. Liam fucking Payne is rubbing his sin-soft lips down the curve of Louis's bare arse; you'd better _believe_ he's panicking.

"For fuck sake," Louis grits out, after a long few minutes of Liam just massaging his thighs and dusting kisses over his bum. "Are you gonna do it or not?"

"You're tense," Liam says. He licks a stripe from the top of Louis's thigh to the small of his back, and he shivers. "I'm just trying to relax you."

"I am relaxed," Louis snaps. "I'm extremely relaxed, I'm going to fall asleep if you don't–shit!"

He breaks off in a squeak when Liam uses his thumbs to pry his cheeks apart and blows cool air directly over Louis's hole. He's not _tense_ , he tells himself as his heart jack hammers in his ears, he's just _startled_ , as anyone would be.

"Extremely relaxed," Liam parrots in a mocking tone. Louis can _hear_ how smug his face looks. He tries to kick at him, but Liam just catches his ankle and uses the hold to pull Louis's legs a little wider, and, shit. Louis may be panting.

"I'm not gonna get more relaxed than this," Louis tells him irritably. "Okay? This is as good as I've got, so do it if you're going to, and if not then _fucking hell_."

The last part drags out on a groan as Liam suddenly spreads him wide and licks a broad, flat stripe directly over Louis's hole. It's just so _much_ that for a moment he can't even tell if he likes it or not, overwhelmed by sheer filthy sensation. Liam doesn't give him time to recover; he licks the same path up the length of Louis's crack, bollocks to the base of his spine, and then again, pressing harder with his tongue each time. The third time, Louis whines; the fourth, he makes a fist and hits the bed. But it isn't until he lets out a tiny, strangled " _please,_ " that Liam stops tormenting him and narrows in on his task.

The first flickers of Liam's tongue against his hole make Louis squirm. It's part ticklishness, and part weird-good feeling, and mostly an intense desire to sink down through the bed and not come out until he stops blushing. It's _weird_. It's a weird fucking feeling, having someone's tongue there. Louis's not a total novice, he's put his fingers there before (maybe while thinking about Liam's dick (definitely while thinking about Liam's dick)), but it's so wildly different that it doesn't even compare.

First of all, Liam isn't him. He has no idea what Liam's going to do; he'll spend a long minute establishing a rhythm, licking circles around Louis's rim, and then suddenly pulse his tongue against it, quick and hard. It's unpredictable and maddening; Louis keeps trying to adjust, trying to settle into a sensation, and then Liam will abruptly change the script. For another thing, a tongue isn't fingers. A tongue is wet, and soft, and flexible, and Liam can wriggle the very tip inside without any stretch at all. The first time Louis had worked a finger inside his arse, it had been a lot of awkward, pointless jabbing, and then suddenly he'd been knuckle-deep and wincing. Liam points his tongue and breaches him over and over with tiny, shallow thrusts, and Louis isn't sure he likes it until he realizes he's fisting the sheets and pushing back against Liam's mouth as much as he's rutting down against the pillow under his hips, and at least half of those noises are coming from him.

If Louis's surprised how much he's enjoying Liam's tongue at his arse, though, it's nothing compared to how shocked he is by the outright _pornographic_ sounds Liam's making. Louis's grateful in a way, because Liam's moans help cover the embarrassing squelchy sounds of saliva being worked inside him, but it's still stunning. Liam's hands are bands of steel on Louis's arse, thumbs digging into flesh as he holds Louis wide open, and he keeps letting out these chest-deep grunts like he can't help himself.

It feels ravenous, the way he's licking and sucking at Louis; he's always wrinkled his nose at the term _eating someone out_ , but that's exactly how it feels, like Liam's trying to devour him. He hadn't really thought Liam was lying when he told Louis that he wanted this, whispering it like a secret into Louis's throat as they frantically undressed each other, but he hadn't expected him to be so plainly hungry for it, hadn't anticipated the low groans vibrating up his spine, like he's the best thing Liam's ever tasted.

It's beginning to not be enough; the pleasure is sweet, but steady, and Louis's starting to get restless, shifting his hips and trying to get some friction against his cock. He slides one knee up to get more leverage, humping down against the pillow, and it isn't much, the soft rub and yielding pressure along his prick, but it feels good. Even better is the way it opens him up more for Liam, so that Liam moans and pushes his face yet tighter to Louis's bum. Louis can feel the rasp of stubble against his thighs now, the press of Liam's nose against his tailbone as he dives in, pulsing his tongue shallowly a few times before spearing it as deep as it will go, ripping a startled cry from Louis's throat.

"Liam! Fuck!" Louis shouts weakly. He's really fucking glad they're in a hotel tonight, because he couldn't keep his voice down right now even if he tried. He's amazed he's managed to keep quiet this long. "Oh fuck, oh god that's good, that feels so good, don't stop–"

If it's possible, his words work Liam up even more, make him clutch harder at Louis's hips and drag him closer until he's on his knees, back bowed deep enough to ache. Liam's fucking his tongue in hard and fast now, pushing as deep as he can every time, teeth pressed to Louis's rim and _fuck, fuck_ , it's too good, Louis needs to come. He tries to beg, but it comes out muffled and incoherent; Liam makes an inquiring noise that goes straight through Louis and that's _it_. He squirms an awkward hand between his belly and the pillow, his whole body shuddering in relief when he finally wraps his fingers around his cock, and it doesn’t take more than a minute of fucking into his own fist before he's coming with a choked cry. It seems to go on for a dizzyingly long time, the tight clench of his arse around Liam's tongue dragging wave after wave of aftershocks from him until he's over-sensitive and cringing, whining and straining to get away. Liam presses a few more wet kisses to his hole and bites firmly at the curve of his arse before letting him go, and Louis slumps forward, exhausted. His stomach is messy with come that smears against the pillow, but he's so beyond caring, collapses right on the wet spot with a full-body sigh.

It takes a few moments for his mind to swim back to the surface, his senses coming back on line sluggishly, one at a time. The cottony white noise in his ears breaks apart, and he can hear Liam behind him, his quick, stuttered breathing and the fleshy slide of his hand over his dick.

"Are you wanking?" Louis asks. It comes out slurred, like he's just woke up from a nap. Liam groans, and Louis turns his head a little, trying to look over his shoulder but too lazy to move enough. "Liam?"

"Have to," Liam breathes out, his voice dragged low and gritty. "So hot Louis, you've got no idea, you taste fucking amazing. I need to come, I'm sorry, I can't–can't wait–"

Louis groans, a low, sweet pulse of arousal throbbing in his stomach at the thought of Liam so turned on just by licking him out. He reaches back clumsily, fumbling for Liam's elbow and pulling hard. Liam cries out in protest, probably thinking Louis's going to stop him, but Louis just tugs harder until Liam's falling against him, cradled in the V of Louis's legs. He moves his hand awkwardly to Liam's hip, holding him there and pushing back against him until Liam gets the idea and starts to thrust, rubbing his dick desperately against Louis's bum. He thumbs his cheeks apart a bit to nestle right in the crack, sliding over Louis's hole, and they both shudder as Liam grinds his hips down hard and comes over Louis's arse.

It's oddly comfortable, lying there in the aftermath with Liam's weight pinning him down and Liam's come dripping between his legs. Mostly Louis's so tired he could fall asleep on a sack of gravel, but still, it's nice. Liam's always warm, and his breath is a cool contrast on Louis's shoulder as he comes down, his heart slowing from its frantic pound against Louis's back to something steady and deep. They've cuddled a lot, and they've fucked around more than a bit, but they haven't really ever put the two together. Louis likes it. He'd be okay with doing it more often. He'd be okay with doing a lot of things.

For the moment, all of those things involve not moving. "No," he groans, hooking his ankle over Liam's leg as he starts to push up. "Where are you going? No going anywhere. Sleeping."

"We're all…sticky," Liam says. Louis wishes he had the energy to look at him, because he can almost hear Liam's blush. "We're going to stick together and wake up all crusty in the morning."

"Hmm," Louis hums. "S'what showers are for."

"You've got to be lying in like the biggest wet spot ever."

"I'll live," Louis says. In all honesty, he'll probably wake up crabby about it in the morning and complain at Liam for letting them fall asleep like this, but the morning is far away.

"Is this a thing for you? Sleeping in wet spots?" Liam asks, but he's settling down again, more of his weight next to Louis than on top so he doesn't crush him, but he's got an arm around Louis's waist and their legs are tangled together so it's still good.

"Dunno," Louis mumbles. "They have a bandana color for that?"

Liam startles into a laugh. "They might have," he says. "They've got one for everything, it seems."

"Any others you're interested in trying out?" Louis asks. Liam's quiet for long enough that Louis pokes his toes into Liam's calf. "Eh, Payno?"

"Maybe," Liam admits, very softly.

Louis smiles, catching Liam's hand so he can give it a squeeze and then lacing their fingers together against his chest. "Well, if there are," Louis tells him, "I'd be all right with that. Just give me a sign."

**Author's Note:**

> Color Codes:
> 
> Light blue, right pocket - wants to give head  
> Red, left pocket - fisting, top  
> Forest/Hunter Green, left pocket - 'daddy'  
> Dark blue, left pocket - anal sex, top  
> White, right pocket - will masturbate us both  
> Dark pink, right pocket - torture my nipples  
> Grey, right pocket - tie me up  
> Black, left pocket - D/s top  
> Beige, right pocket - wants to rim


End file.
